Random Freestyle-ness.

Like the fight to reach heaven
were a celestial arms race,
and tear-stains were the only bloody
battle-scars to mar the face -
degeneration
is not the backwards advance
of a body.
De-generation
is the backwards advance
of my society.
Hip-hop isn't dead
if Jay-Z can lay auto-tune to rest.
In peace is the will of those
who still have gears grinding in their chest -
pieces break
and clang
and chip
to brick-back broken growls of thunder -
if our eyes can produce lightening,
where do you think we rip the electricity from?
The dusty corners of a place where bird song is found in cages,
swept clean of the bent bars,
strain yourself to listen past those solfeges;
Do, Re,
Me,
I,
Eye,
Ay'm the lyric you forgot to write
but will still be heard -
I can twist sentences across the length of your teeth
just to find one word;
I can smell the defecation stained like sarcasm between your lines -
and you think you're the shit?
I'll show you what "hot fiyah" this meta-physical dragoness
can searingly spit -
Fa, So,
La,
Ti,
Do...
Do...
Dough is not the last color of the spectrum,
so why do you chase after rainbows?
Chase after the dreams
my salivatic rain-blows -
I pour my demons into seeds
and watch Hell grow;
I lace the soil with fallen feathers
and make sure martyrs find their halo -
I bite my tongue
and strain thought through the veins of my tastebuds,
just to water my poetry with un-rea-lyricist-ic
truths;
and I hold these to be self-evident -
Hip-Hop is a culture that changes yet remains the same -
the beat is an energry that can never be destroyed or created -
rhymes are forces that bind writers to reality -
so,
like the fight to reach heaven
were a celestial arms race,
push your pens to the limit
and get to scribblin' your universe back into outer space.